to be either, that you found the choice too simplistic?’ Abruptly he cast the knife away from him; it landed with a clatter among the paraphernalia laid out on the bench, and he stepped closer, laying a hand gently on my shoulder. I braced myself, but did not move. ‘You are a conundrum, Doctor Bruno, do you know that?’ His limpid eyes raked over my face repeatedly, as though by this he might decode the puzzle. ‘You are excommunicate, yet you have the patronage of a Catholic monarch. You reject the supreme authority of the pope and preach the heretical theories of the Pole Copernicus, yet I am told you publicly declare yourself a Catholic. What is your faith, Bruno?’
I looked him in the eye. ‘I am a son of the Roman Church, Master Jenkes. You must be the only man in Oxford who doubts my religion – your fellow townsmen cross the street for the chance to spit upon me.’
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